


Achilles's Heel

by 2spooky4u, your mom (2spooky4u)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Broken Castiel, Episode: s09e03 I'm No Angel, Human Castiel, POV Second Person, Weird writing Style, episode coda, tag scene, that scene broke me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:34:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2spooky4u/pseuds/2spooky4u, https://archiveofourown.org/users/2spooky4u/pseuds/your%20mom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas talks to someone. He's hurt. </p><p> </p><p>He knew that he was going to be a burden to Dean now that he was human; he just thought....</p><p> </p><p>Stupid trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Achilles's Heel

**Author's Note:**

> I am just 10000000008% done 
> 
>  
> 
> Cas bby

The bar is nearly deserted. Good. You came to forget, not to meet people. There's a wide variety of seats available, but you want to get drunk as quickly as possible so the counter is your best bet. 

 

You ignore the idle chatter the bartender tries to initiate. You aren't feeling very sociable. You order whatever the hell has the best name. It's bitter. You drink it anyway. 

 

The bartender goes away; dealing with the only other patron. He's too drunk to walk so the bartender has to do....whatever the hell it is bartenders do when people get really plastered. You watch idly and don't notice another customer slinking in until he speaks. He's taken the barstool next to yours. 

 

"Um, I'm sorry, but, uh, can you tell me where I am?" 

 

You blink. Nobody in real life says stuff like that. You tell him the city and state and his shoulders relax. 

 

"I'm safe, for now," he mutters, rubbing his tired blue eyes. 

 

"Uh, safe from what?" You're starting to get more than a little wigged out by this man. "You're not, like, a serial killer or something?"

 

"A serial killer would give the same answer to that as an innocent man," he points out. You smile despite yourself. He doesn't look like a killer on the prowl. A killer would probably target a more crowded place. No. This guy looks like he's just running from something.

 

"True," you say simply. His lip twitches. 

 

"I do not intend to kill anyone," he clarifies. 

 

"No. I know."

 

"Okay," he says. He seems like he's far away yet present at the same time. The bartender, scenting new customer in the air, gives him some beer on tap when he requests the cheapest thing that they have. 

 

"That a picture?" He's digging through his pockets, laying the miscellany therein atop the bar as he goes. There's a photo lying face down on the wood surface. 

 

"Oh. That's, uh, that's De-Dan," he stammers, hastily stuffing it into his pocket. 

 

"Brother? Friend? Uncle? Son?" He shakes his head no to all of your inquiries. 

 

"We aren't related."

 

"Boyfriend?" 

 

His eyes seem to cloud with a strange mixture of grief and regret and misery and sorrow. Guilt. Anger. 

 

"No," he says finally. "I mean nothing to him now that I'm ordinary."

 

He doesn't elaborate. 

 

"What's your name?"

 

"Ca- Cla- Uh, Dean," he stutters. It's a lie and you know it but you aren't that concerned. 

 

"He meant a lot to you," you hypothesize. You are tipsy and toy recognize the despair painted delicately across his features. You can relate all too well. 

 

"He's my best friend. Was. He was my best friend."

 

"I'm sorry," you proffer and he nods quietly. You both drink in silence until he speaks once again. 

 

"Someone hurt me," he says quietly, voice shaking. "A lot of someones. But Dean never hated me like he should have."

 

"Then what happened?" His story is drawing you in. 

 

"My brother betrayed me. And I lost the things that Dean needed me for. I had to run, but he found me. I thought I was a stupid burden to him but he seemed glad to know I was alive. Then he realized that I'm useless now and he told me to leave."

 

"He sounds like someone who's not worth the pain," you say because that's what people say, right?

 

"He's worth it," the man who obviously isn't named Dean says. 

 

You will never see him again after tonight, after he rolls off of you and you both fall asleep in your bed. He's gone by morning. You never know his name but you wonder: did he ever find his Dean?


End file.
